Established in 2006, American Indians in Children's Literature (AICL) provides critical perspectives and analysis of indigenous peoples in children's and young adult books, the school curriculum, popular culture, and society. Scroll down for links to book reviews, Native media, and more.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

A Broken Flute: The Native Experience in Books for Children, edited by Doris Seale and Beverly Slapin, includes a review of the Kaya books in the American Girls Collection. Far too often, popular books aren't given the critical attention they should receive. And, far too often, the reviews they do get fail to note problems regarding the ways that American Indians are portrayed. Some reviews from A Broken Flute appear on this blog, but, by far, the best option is for teachers, librarians, parents, professors, editors, publishers and students to buy the book itself, and get it directly from Oyate. Doing so allows Oyate, a non-profit organization, to continue to do this work. [Note: the review is used here with permission, and may not be published elsewhere without written permission of Beverly Slapin at Oyate.]

Little girls have been playing with dolls for as long as we have been human. If you are a Native mother, you would be hard put to find a doll to give to your daughter that would come near to being a representation of herself unless you made it. And that is what makes this Nimíipuu (Nez Percé) doll in the “American Girl” series so enticing. It’s too bad that the Pleasant Company did not produce something that genuinely transmits the Nimíipuu culture.

This series of stories taking place in 1764 could have been worse. The young protagonist has a name, a family, and friends. In the course of the series, she grows and matures. The author does not represent the Nimíipuu people as savages. But whatever information she got from her advisors is filtered through a white consciousness and further adapted to fit the mold of this formula historical fiction series. All life-threatening conflicts are resolved by the end of each story, and all moral and emotional conflicts are resolved by the end of the series. This writing style is an especially bad thing in historical books about Indian people, whose conflicts—over, for instance, water and land rights, the government’s theft of treaty funds, the issue of sports mascots—are ongoing. And books conceptualized as teaching tools—or worse, books enlisted in the cause of selling a product—usually result in writing that is stilted and boring. This series is no different. Some of the problems:

• Indian parents and grandparents lecture so that the author can convey information about the people. Besides being culturally dissonant, this breaks the cardinal rule in literature of “show, don’t tell.”

• Anachronistic wording such as the Lakota word “teepee” and the French words “travois” and “parfleche” are used throughout, even in dialogue. Nimíipuu words during that time period might have been translated as “dwelling,” “pony drag,” and “carrying bag.”

• By having Kaya talk in similes and metaphors, comparing all her thoughts to nature—“her thoughts whirled like smoke in the wind,” “she glides over the ground like the shadow of an eagle,” “her feelings were all tangled up like a nest of snakes”—the author misses the subtleties of Indian language and thought patterns. Throughout, faces are “dark” and “gleaming,” eyes are “dark,” cheekbones are “high,” expressions are “fierce,” and Indian characters “cock their heads” in thought.

• Traditionally, Nimíipuu names given to children had to do with ancestors, place, and responsibility; and names were changed several times during a person’s life. Unless the baby was dying and had to be named very quickly, naming was done after great consideration, often by an elder or holy person. It’s unbelievable that any 18th Century Nimíipuu mother would name her baby for the first thing she saw after giving birth—this is a stereotype that goes back even further than Will Sampson’s joke in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”[1]

• Swan Necklace was the English translation of a Nimíipuu leader’s name, but one wonders why—and in some cases, how—the author came up with names for characters such as “Speaking Rain,” “White Braids,” “To Soar Like An Eagle,” “Light On The Water” and “Bear Blanket.” Did she research traditional Nimíipuu name giving or did she just spin the wheels for authentic Indian names?[2]

• One can understand the author’s quandary in not wanting to use “Tonto-speak,” but sign language, a visual-gestural form of communication, has a different syntax than spoken languages and does not translate into standard grammatical sentences. Here, Kaya signs to Two Hawks: “But there’s hardly any game up this high. We’d still have nothing to eat.”

• A prepubescent Indian girl in 1764 would not have had a relationship with her father that included physical touching. Generally, girls stayed with their mothers or aunties and grandmas; and boys stayed with their fathers or uncles and grandpas. Unless it was an emergency, it is not likely that Kaya would have ridden behind her father on a horse, holding onto him. Nor is it likely that she would have “put her arms around his neck while he held her tightly against his chest for a long time.”

• Horse-stealing raids were not the same as raids to capture women and children, nor were they done at the same time. Nor would raiders feed captive children “only scraps from their meals.” Captive children were taken into adoption, often given to a family to take the place of children who had died, and treated as well as the other children.

• The “enemy tribe” is unnamed; in any event, people from horse cultures did not whip or otherwise abuse their horses. Previously owned horses were accustomed to being ridden and wild horses were gentled—not “tamed”—by their owners.

• Hunters would not have brought back buffalo to camp and given “the meat and hides to the women.” Rather, the camp moved to the hunting grounds so that the women could butcher the meat right there.

• Kaya’s sightless sister, “Speaking Rain,” as all Native children, would have been taught to take care of herself. She would not have to hold hands while walking with someone, nor would she be constrained from picking berries or gathering firewood, nor would she ask questions about things she could figure out for herself.

• The people all look alike, they are all the exact same tone of brown, and their facial and physical features are the same, too. In pictures where the women and girls are sitting, they’re sitting in the wrong position. Indian women in this time period would not have sat with their legs crossed, nor would they have sat with their legs up, hugging their knees.

• Kaya and the River Girl, a 2003 tack-on to the series, is the most stupefyingly contrived of all of them. Here, Kaya loses a spontaneous foot race to a girl named Spotted Owl, who is from the “River People.” For 21 pages, Kaya obsesses about losing the race: she’s angry and miserable, her pride is injured, her feelings are bruised, her voice is grim and cold, she struggles with her shame. Finally, when the two girls come together to rescue an elder woman named Elder Woman, they become great friends.

• The non-fiction sections at the end of the books, called “A Peek Into the Past,” are uneven. While some parts convey good information, particularly the boarding school story in Kaya’s Escape! and the story of the Dalles Dam in Kaya Shows the Way, other parts are rife with error. For instance, in Meet Kaya, the author states, “Early white explorers, including French fur trappers, mistakenly believed that all Nez Percé wore shells through their noses and gave them that name.” How could anyone look at someone and “mistakenly believe” him to be wearing a shell through his nose? The Nimíipuu people were called “Nez Percé” by the French because they pierced the septa of their horses’ noses so that the horses could breathe better and run faster.

• By setting these books in 1764—before white encroachment—the author and publisher were able to sidestep the nasty parts of what happened to the Nimíipuu and to relegate some of the history to the “Looking Back” sections. The series oversimplifies and sanitizes Nimíipuu history, and by doing so, makes history more palatable to the contemporary sensibilities of the young non-Native girl readers for whom this series was conceptualized.

The Kaya series exactly illustrates the problem with which we are constantly contending: It’s almost impossible to tell another people’s story in a believable way, no matter how good one’s intentions may be and no matter how many cultural advisors there are. And writing to formula is never a good idea.

—Beverly Slapin

[1] The punch line is too raunchy for this publication. Rent the movie.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Beverly Slapin's review of Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

[On April 12th, I posted first impressions of Sherman Alexie's YA book. Below is Beverly Slapin's review, used here with her permission. It may not be published elsewhere without her written permission.]

What do you do when, every day, you leave your home reservation—“located approximately one million miles north of Important and two billion miles west of Happy”—to attend a high school where the only other Indian is the school mascot and you have to pretend not to be poor and your best friend becomes your worst enemy because you deserted him and you know your parents are sacrificing for you and doing the best they can but sometimes you have to hitchhike home? And, oh, yeah, you have a big head, huge hands and feet, you’re nearsighted in one eye and far-sighted in the other and you stutter and lisp. What do you do? You draw cartoons about your life and play basketball, that’s what.

Called “Junior” by his friends and relatives on the Spokane reservation and “Arnold” by the white people in the other part of the world he inhabits part-time, he’s an Indian boy coming into adulthood, literally weaving and dodging and rolling with the punches. But Absolutely True Diary is not just a litany of pain; it’s also about strength and resilience and endurance and culture and community. And laughter, lots of it, at the joys, at the sorrows, even at the tragedies. And always and ever, it’s about the land. As Junior and Rowdy climb almost to the top of the biggest tree on the reservation, they see “from one end of the reservation to the other. We could see our entire world. And our entire world, at that moment, was green and golden and perfect.”

Absolutely True Diary, illustrated with Forney’s amazing black-and-white cartoons, tells Alexie’s truths. This is his life. He really does enjoy reading Emily Dickenson and his sister really did die a tragic death. He can be arrogant as all hell, but this Indian boy can write. He’ll have you laughing out loud and then he’ll spin you around and whomp you upside the head. He’ll break your heart every time. I mean it.—Beverly Slapin

[Note from Debbie: The book will be available from Oyate as soon as it is available.]

Native students, staff, and faculty at UND and UIUC, and Native organizations and tribal nations have long called for the end of these mascots (or symbols, as the term of choice at UIUC) for sports teams. UIUC's "Chief Illiniwek" is no longer being used at UIUC.

If you haven't yet bought and read and shared The Birchbark House or its sequel, The Game of Silence, visit the Oyate website and get them. They are excellent.

------------------------------Update: 11:30, 4/25/2007Here is the text of Erdrich's letter:

Dear President Kupchella,

It means a great deal to me that the University of North Dakota has offered me an honorary degree. I would like to thank the professors and members of the administration who worked so hard for my nomination, and also the trustees for this great sign of support.

The University of North Dakota has educated members of my family, and members of my tribe, the Turtle Mountain Band of Chippewa. I am proud of my family's association with this fine institution. I would be only to happy to accept this degree, were it not for the UND endorsed logo. The Fighting Sioux logo has alienated many good and hardworking tribal people, as well as decent folk who do not like to see others denigrated as sports symbols.

I know all of the arguments about the logo inside out, as do you, President Kupchella, but I would just like to add these comments. The Fighting Sioux logo has become a locus for hatred. By holding onto this antiquated symbol, UND tacitly endorses biased and racist behavior against the very people I believe you would, truly, rather honor and know as the complex people we are.

The University of North Dakota could provide great leadership and further the cause of human understanding, as well as take a step toward acknowledging the first people of the Dakotas, by removing this symbol and declaring peace. No more Fighting Sioux. Let us stop using American Indians as mascots the way animals are used.

Again, I regret having to having turn down this wonderful honor. My family regrets this too. I really do wish that I could accept.

First Peoples listed AICL as one of the Top Five Native Blogs and Podcast to follow. School Library Journal's Elizabeth Burns featured AICL as her Blog of the Day on July 2, 2007, and in 2007, the ALA's Association for Library Service to Children invited Debbie to write a blog post for their site.

American Indian? Or, Native American? There is no agreement among Native peoples. Both are used. It is best to be specific. Example: Instead of "Debbie Reese, a Native American," say "Debbie Reese, a Nambe Pueblo Indian woman."